


Billy Hargrove Wouldn’t Take His Shirt Off

by Annatheism



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Drunkenness, Flirting, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Harringrove, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mom Steve, Neil mention, Non-Graphic Violence, Sharing a Bed, Sleepovers, Violence, abuse mention, violence mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-13 01:05:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12972327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annatheism/pseuds/Annatheism
Summary: "It wasn’t his first time tending to a drunk friend, although he was known for his parties he rarely drank much at them, and usually ended up playing party mom to a few people by the end of the night. Still, Billy Hargrove wasn’t a friend, and finding your not friend about to get in a brawl with someone outside a bar and convincing him to clean up and crash at your place to avoid police involvement, is far from a party. And after all that, for some reason, Billy Hargrove wouldn’t take his shirt off."





	Billy Hargrove Wouldn’t Take His Shirt Off

Resiliently steve batted away Billy’s uncoordinated attempts to hinder his hands. Finally, he managed to grip each side of the blond’s almost entirely unbuttoned shirt, which was now sufficiently soaked from the splashing and thrashing. It wasn’t his first time tending to a drunk friend, although he was known for his parties he rarely drank much at them, and usually ended up playing party mom to a few people by the end of the night. Still, Billy Hargrove wasn’t a friend, and finding your not friend about to get in a brawl with someone outside a bar and convincing him to clean up and crash at your place to avoid police involvement, is far from a party. And after all that, for some reason, Billy Hargrove wouldn’t take his shirt off.

 

He’d only just started to peel back the shirt when a sharp pain shot up his arm. His eyes darting to his wrist, locked in a death grip of Billy’s almost bone white knuckles, apart from the scratches and discoloration now thrown into sharp relief across his knuckles. This was unlike his prior flailings, which came across a bit bratty, almost playful. This was panicked, instinctual, a last-ditch effort. 

 

“Billy?-”

 

Steves eyes flicked up curiously where they locked with Billy’s threatening but somehow… frightened glare.

 

“Don’t.”

 

Steve couldn’t make sense of this reaction at all. Hargrove wasn’t one to be shy about showing off his chest. He never hesitated to call skins at basketball practice, well, he’d switch it up sporadically, for a few days at a time. But Steve had always assumed that was to throw him off his game, as Billy seemed to love doing. 

 

_ ‘Don’t’ _ it echoed in his head sounding more and more like a plea, masquerading as a demand.

 

“Ahah, ok… The shirt stays on. It’s cool, I was going to end up washing it anyway…” 

 

He forced a light laugh, pulling Billy’s collar closed and gingerly letting go, spreading his hands in surrender. 

 

“Ok?” he asked gently as Billy’s grip loosened, his hand dropping to the edge of the tub, stretching out the tension of the prolonged grip. 

 

“Yeh.” 

 

He’d broken the gaze to scrutinize Steve’s hand’s movement, and would now look anywhere but the other boy’s face. His expression was crystal clear though; he wasn’t about to explain the events that just transpired anytime soon.

 

“Ok! I have a blow dryer so - I mean  _ we-  _ I- It’s my moms. My  _ mom _ has a blow dryer you can use so you don't fall asleep on your wet hair or… shirt.” Steve cringed a bit to himself, quickly moving along. He grabbed a washcloth and poured his body wash onto it before submerging it under the faucet and wring it out slightly then paused suddenly, having been lifting it towards The only bare skin above the water, nearly touching Billy’s chest when he noticed billy’s quizzical, almost amused look. 

 

“Oh right, sorry. Here, you can-?” He offered the damp sudsy cloth with an upturned palm.

 

“I just figured- you’d want to do your your hair yourself, and, well, that you wouldn’t want to be sitting in a wet shirt very long, but if you’re up to it- you know what? I can go, you can wash yourself, I don’t know what I was thinking-”

 

“ _ Harrington.  _ Shut up.” This time the smirk was practically audible, slowing Steve’s awkward withdrawal.

 

“No way in  _ hell  _ you’re touching my hair… So get to it.” Billy tapped his own chest, reaching for the men’s shampoo in the corner with his other hand.

 

“Only over the shirt stuff tonight. That’s a phrase you’ve got to be familiar with right?”

 

Steve rolled his eyes, groaning over and admittedly relieved sigh. The classic Billy was back, provocatively spoken with a familiar devilish grin. 

Billy places the shampoo bottle between his knees before cupping his hands to bring water over his head, letting it run through his hair.

 

“Aye, eyes up here.” He quipped arrogantly, without opening his eyes as he brought more warm water up, letting it run over his face this time. It was partially in vain though. True Steve’s eyes  _ had _ , in fact, followed the placement of the shampoo bottle, glancing down for the first time, but they’d already followed the  shift of his arm muscles up to his face, where large drops of water were caught, glistening on his full, downcast lashes, making them look even darker than usual. That is, until his attention was stolen by the movement of Billy’s wet lips.

 

“Yeah, yeah. Meanwhile, I have to give you a fuckin sponge bath, while  _ also _ doing your laundry.” Steve retorted, dabbing the cloth pointedly over the front of the drink stained shirt. Until his firm prodding got to the lower half of his left rib cage, where Steve focused a bit more energy due to the darkness of that particular stain, he felt Billy’s chest constrict, followed a muffled, hissed exhale.

 

Steve looked up once more, this time to see Billy’s lover lip clamped between his teeth, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he stared straight ahead, continued to lather soap through his curls.

 

“Don’t ask. Just get the stain out.” 

 

Steve just nodded wordlessly, reaching in with his free hand, pinching the fabric slightly, pulling it away from the skin before wetting the cloth again and continuing the (now slightly more tentative) dabs. When the stain was no longer visible re retracted his other hand and set the cloth aside, reaching into the tub for some water to rinse that side of the shirt, plastering to his rippling abdomen in the process.

 

“Ok. Hands off, Harrington.” 

 

Steve looked up, slightly red in the face, from all the steam in the bathroom, of course, ready to apologize for potentially stretching his shirt, or accidentally grazing his thigh, or staring at his chest too long or- something.

 

“It’s time to rinse and repeat...” Billy said coyly.

 

_ -’His voice wasn’t that low before, was it?’- _

 

“What? Were you getting a little carried away,  _ Steve _ ?”

 

“Uhuh, yeah  _ no _ .” Steve scoffed. “I just haven’t done the other half of your shirt yet, so...”

 

Billy’s face was fixed in a disbelieving half smirk. “That's what you can do during the  _ repeat part. _ ” He clapped steve's shoulder before turning around to lean back under the faucet. 

 

“And let’s make it quick-“ he scrubbed his own hair gently as fresh water streamed through it,  “-I think all the steam is getting to your head, Harrington.”

Steve rolled his eyes again, partially in dismissal, and partially so he didn’t have to see the boy in front of him stretched out in his bathtub, propped up on one elbow,  head thrown back into the rushing water, his other arm flexed over his head...

 

When Billy sat up, he remained with his back toward the faucet so Steve could begin on the final part of shirt, patting timidly with fresh soap.

 

“You don’t have to… I mean, this side is fine so… stop pussyfooting around! This water is getting gross, and I’m getting out ASAP.” He coughed, hiding the waver in his voice as he reached for the conditioner. 

 

Steve just nodded, carrying on, more determinedly brushing over the watered down drink stain till it was also completely gone. The only thought Steve could conjure was; 

 

‘ _ Neil is right handed.’  _

 

His premonition all but confirmed, he was determined to keep neutral expression as he poured more water over the spot, before noticing something more than sufficient in distracting him… a small perky bump, pulling the weighted fabric from the rounded angle of Billy’s pec, his eyes wandered to the the other, seeing it in an identical state. He couldn’t have been cold, with warm water running on and off the entire time, the air was so thick it was even making Steve sweat.

 

“Uh… I’m gonna do the final rinse if you’re… done?”

 

“Uh, yeah, Do that.” Steve averted his eyes to the washcloth, wringing it out before standing up. 

 

“I’ll be right back.” He hung the washcloth on one of the various towel hooks on the back of the door, before quickly shutting it from the outside. Breathing in the comparably cool dry air did little to calm his spinning head. He headed to his room, grabbing a set of pajamas and a towel from the closet on the way back, laying a hand towel across the back of his neck to dry the damp spot that had occurred, quickly blotting his face and combing his hair back with his fingers before opening the bathroom door again. 

 

“Here’s a towel, and something to sleep in, just hang the shirt on a towel hook to dry, blow dryer is under the sink and fixing spray, hair spray, - my  _ mom’s _ hairspray- is in the cabinet, I mean I think.” Steve shrugged possibly one too many times in the process of setting the folded items on the padded toilet lid cover and backing out. 

 

Billy just gave him a grimacing smirk. “God, you take  _ this _ good care of all your subjects, King Steve? I’d try to be in your favor more often… if you weren’t so fun to mess with.” Shirt still plastered to his chest, dripping ringlets forming around his face, Billy began standing up before Steve had properly shut the door. 

 

Once Steve was back in his room and could hear the blow dryer droning from the bathroom he stripped off his soggy clothes, pulling on a pair of plaid pajama pants and a tshirt before flopping on his bed. He flipped through one of his comic books distractedly, not being able to latch onto the stories, instead finding every villain to resemble a certain beady-eyed, mustache-wearing man who made his skin crawl. 

 

His door swung open unceremoniously, causing him to jump slightly before taking in the guy in his doorway. His curls were fresh and fluffy, his cheeks were slightly tinted from the heat, he smelled like most of Steve’s shower products and… he was wearing a tshirt. 

 

“You know I can’t remember any other time you’ve had that much shirt on… ” Steve thought out loud before internally kicking himself.  _ ‘C’mon man, he’s gonna think you’re trying to make him talk about it, why does it always come back to the shirt… he doesn’t want to talk about it to you, let him be’  _

 

Billy just chuckled, leaning in his doorway, one arm over his head, revealing a strip of unmarred, chiseled hip muscle. 

“Well, I’d like to think those aren’t my most memorable times, Harrington.” 

 

They chuckled, Steve a bit breathlessly, _ ‘must still be a bit light headed _ ’. 

 

“The guest room ‘s the door to the left of mine….”

 

“Tsk tsk tsk, Harrington, you were doing so well at this whole thing.” He stepped into the room, leaning on his hands on the footboard of Steve’s bed. 

“Rule #1 for putting a drunk person to bed is to stay with them. Wouldn’t want me having to hurl and  _ choking _ during the night.”

 

“Ugh, and you make the idea of sharing a bed with you sound  _ so appealing _ ” Steve wrinkled his nose. 

“Plus I’m like 90% sure you’re sober, at least enough not to die choking on your own vomit.” He scoffed and tossed his comic book on the nightstand, reaching for the lamp cord, signaling he was going to sleep.

 

“Still...” Billy strolled around the corner of the bed before abruptly flopping on the less occupied half. 

“How can you really tell?”

 

Steve had pulled the cord to the light before he saw Billy turn to flop on the bed, He quickly scooted over to his side, propped on his elbow facing the blonde who stretched and sighed, resting his arms back on the pillow, on either side of his head, his self-satisfied smile radiating even in the dark.

 

Steve watched him for a moment, still thinking.

 

“Your flirting is more direct.”

 

“Huh?” Billy arched one of his eyebrows, giving him a sending his most dismissive side glance in Steve’s direction

 

“Well- when you’re sober you’re not afraid to- you’re in my bed after all, but earlier you were standoffish and I don’t know… defensive” 

 

Billy just rolled his eyes, “just caught me at a bad time”, he pulled part of Steve’s blanket off him, draping it over himself, tucking it behind him so they were effectively closer. 

 

“There isn’t this-”

“Why are you protecting him?” Steve cut off his flirty ramble effectively with a tired, monotone voice.

 

There was a pause where Billy just frowned up at the ceiling.

 

“I’m ...ugh, I’m just dealing with it, alright! I don’t need more people getting involved, especially you.” The last line surprised even Billy it seemed as his eyes widened slightly at the ceiling. 

 

“Right… Well, if it happens again,” -he  _ knew _ it would- “instead of going out and doing some shit that’ll get you locked up… just come find me.” The end of his sentence petered off as a suggestion, one prayed Billy would accept.

 

“Yeah, yeah” Billy shrugged it off, scowling slightly still. “Now go to sleep.” He pushed Steve’s  shoulder back so he was laying flat, no longer propped up on his side. 

 

Billy was sat up, adjusting the other pillow when they locked eyes momentarily. 

 

“...Thanks, Harrington.” he said laying down, his head nodding to the side slightly, fluffy curls brushing Steve’s cheek.

 

“Yeah… anytime.”

**Author's Note:**

> We all know Steve's gonna end up doing something, pffft! Boy ain't satisfied with that. So... lots more hanging out ...and sleepovers.


End file.
